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HOWDY 
ALL 




HOWDY ALL 

And Other Care-free Rhymes 

By 
WIL4LIAM HERSCHELL' 



Author of 

Songs of the Streets and Byways 

The Kid Has Gone to the Colors 

The Smile-Bringer 

Etc. 



m 



INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 19122, by 
The Bobbs-Mereill Company 






Printed in. the United States of America 



PRESS OF 

BRAUNWORTH & CO 

BOOK MANUFACTURERS 

BROOKLYN, N. Y. 



AUG -5 1922 



©CI.A(J81254 



To 

JIM McCORMICK 

Editor 

Who taught me it is easier to swing a pencil 
than a hammer. 



To The Indianapolis Nezvs and The Red Book 
the author expresses his gratitude for permission 
to reprint the verses contained in this volume. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Ain't Boys Funny? . . . .... ... r.^ ,., . 143 

At Granny's House .41 

At Monticello Dam 122 

Barnyard Band, The 47 

Beloved Fat Man, The 131 

Blue Smoke 120 

Bookworm, The 39 

Boy Next Door to the Circus, The 3 

Breakin' In 81 

Butter-Bread Bandit, The 29 

Chawberry 25 

Cloud-Children 49 

Creek that Runs through Town, The .... 45 

Deserted Inn, The 60 

Doctor Grin 115 

Empty Jug 68 

Eve Eternal 70 

Free Show, The 72 

Funny Cakes the Baker Makes, The .... 66 

Garden Patriot, A 145 

GiGGLEBUG, The Ill 

Glorious First, The 98 

Have You Been To See ''October"? 56 

Heck Hutton 9 

Hills of Indiana, The 14 

Howdy All , . i 



CONTENT S— Continued 

PAGE 

Hymn-Singin' Jim 104 

If Everything Went Just So 75 

In Memory's Garden 62 

Indispensable Dobbin, The i33 

"Is 'At So?" 31 

Kitchen Pump, The 93 

Latticed Prisoner, The 12 

Lights of Five O'Clock, The 7 

Little Gray Church in the Circle 64 

Little Mister Fixer ]\Ian 85 

Little Thing Called "Good Morning," The ... 91 

Log of the Limpy Lou, The 83 

'•Makin's,'' The 128 

Migrant Melody, A 9^ 

Moods of Winter, The 113 

Neighbors 5i 

Old Man 136 

Old Man's Christmas Shop, The 102 

Old Year, The i35 

Passing of the Comic, The 117 

Patient Friend, The 54 

Pipe of Peace, The 124 

Postmaster Tree 20 

Punkinheads 37 

Pups and A Boy 109 

Ridin' Around 23 

RooF-Top Reverie, A 138 

Rubbernecks, The 18 

Runaway Shoes, The 35 



CONTENT S— Concluded 

PAGE 

Said the Traffic Cop, Smilingly ...... 89 

Second-Hand Hosses 100 

Street Scale, The 43 

Tantalizin' Days 53 

Trader in Dreams, The 27 

Tree Doctor, The 147 

Tree Nobody Bought, The 87 

Vanished Forum, The 79 

Wayfarer's Valentine, The 58 

Wayside World, A 77 

What the Toymaker Thinks 126 

When Ain't Nobody Home 16 

When Mother Rubs It In 140 

When Sugar Was Up 5 

When th' Firemens Come 107 

Who Says When It's Marble Time 22 



HOWDY ALL 

There are some who give their greetings 

In an arctic sort of way ; 
Some who make us kind of doubtful 

As they "pass the time of day"; 
But there's one we'll always cherish, 

For we like his cheery call 
As he passes by each morning 

Singing out his '*Howdy all!" 

It's the same to rogue and righteous, 

It's the same to cad and churl ; 
It's a joy to man and woman, 

It's a thrill to boy and girl. 
He will make you feel as royal 

As a king in palace hall, 
As he waves his hand and greets you 

With his smiling "Howdy all!" 



HOWDY ALL 

At the wedding feast his presence 

Gives good omen to the day ; 
He is welcome where there's sorrow — 

Where he is no tear can stay. 
Why, perhaps poor Humpty Diimpty 

Still might be upon the wall 
Had he never lost his balance 

Chuckling at some ''Howdy all!" 

Howdy all's a joy-magician 

Welcome everywhere he goes ; 
Where he plants a friendly greeting, 

There a day of gladness grows. 
IVe a thought that when the curtain 

Called Eternity shall fall, 
He will start the angels laughing 

When he sings out "Howdy all!" 



THE BOY NEXT DOOR TO THE CIRCUS 

When Pa an' Ma they move ag'in — > 
They're alius movin' out er in — 
I'm goin' to say to them : *'Gee whiz, 
Let's move out where th' circus is !" 

I know a guy whose backyard fence 
Goes right up to th' circus tents, 
An' he can sit right there an' see 
Th' whole dog-gone menagerie! 

His alley's where th' show comes in, 
An' then, at night, goes out ag'in. 
He sees more stuff on circus day 
Than folks 'at go an' haf to pay. 

He gits to hear th' keepers cuss 
Th' big ole hippopotamus, 
An' gee, his alley fence is right 
Where all th' roustabouters fight. 
3 



THE BOY NEXT DOOR TO THE CIRCUS 

Say, he can tell you to th' dot 
How many clowns th' show has got. 
An' soniethin' else — he says he knows 
Th' giiy 'at trims th' tiger's toes. 

He knows th' bosses by their names. 
An' he's fed lions, too, he claims; 
Oh yes, an' he says he give — once — 
Terbacker to th' elephunts! 

He ist knows everything about 
A circus show — inside an' out ! 
But what gits me, he acts so swell 
'Cause they git water from his well ! 

When Pa an' Ma they move ag'in — 
They're alius movin' out er in — 
I'm goin' to say to them : "Gee whiz, 
Let's move out where th' circus is I" 



WHEN SUGAR WAS UP 

Fings is actin' mighty queer 
'Tween myself an' Muvver dear. 
Muvver she ist act like she 
Ain't got one bit use for me. 
'Specially I've noticed that 
When I'm where our sugar's at. 

Muvver all time used to say : 
"You ain't e't a fing to-day. 
Guess I'll maybe haf to bake 
My sweet child a sugar cake. 
Maybe make some candy, too, 
'Fore I git my bakin' through." 

Yes, an' ever' day she'd spread 
Sugar on my butter bread. 
But she don't do that no more 
Like she used to do before. 
Sugar's all ist for herself 
Hid away upon our shelf. 
5 



WHEN SUGAR WAS UP 

I ist sit an' suck my fumbs 
But no sugar never comes. 
Nen if I start in to squall, 
Muvver she don't care at all. 
Muvver she ist says: "Gee whiz! 
Sugar's scarcer'n babies is !" 



THE LIGHTS OF FIVE O'CLOCK 

When the Lights of Five O'Clock come on, 
Man's afterglow to a day that's gone, 
I find it pleasant to sit and dream 
Who fares beneath each friendly beam. 
From my window here I watch them glow; 
Some far above me and some below ; 
Some are as soft as a baby's kiss, 
Some flare forth with an emphasis. 

L^p in the heights, where the roof and sky. 
Play with the smoke-waves wafting by, 
I see a girl, in the shadowed light. 
Peer far out in the deepening night. 
She prays fair weather ! For soon her feet 
Will dance with Love in a rhythmic beat. 
Toil-wearied now — that will soon be gone, 
For the Lights of Five O'Clock are on ! 

7 



THE LIGHTS OF FIVE o'CLOCK 



I see men hurry, I see some sway 
With fag that comes at the close of day. 
I see some laugh, though some may sigh ; 
See typewriters closed and books laid by. 
Now is a woman — her hair grown gray- 
Putting the wares of her shop away. 
There goes an errand boy — on the run! — 
With the mail in post his day is done ! 

When the Lights of Five O' Clock come on, 
Man's afterglow to a day that's gone, 
I find it pleasant to sit and dream 
Who fares beneath each friendly beam. 
And, oh, I hope, as each light goes out, 
It sends none home with a sigh or doubt. 
Instead, may Happiness find its dawn 
When the Lights of Five O'Clock come on! 



8 



HECK HUTTON 

Heck Hutton, down at Tailholt, he's my sub- 
ject fer to-day, 

An' I'd like to make you know him in an under- 
standin' way. 

Philosopher an' joker, an' a Jack-of-all-trades, 
too, 

Heck never shies at nothin' that a human hand 
can do. 

His humble shop, vine-covered, fronts a little 
byway street. 

Where th' un-elected statesmen of th' town an* 
country meet. 

9 



HECK HUTTON 

Heck doctors ailin' harness or he'll give your 

shoes a sole; 
He'll make your pump give v^ater if there's water 

in th' hole. 
Th' v^immen bring their pots an^ pans to him from 

miles around, 
An* they know, too, that in his shop their men 

folks can be found. 
Yes, sir, they'll always find 'em there, each 

argyin' to see 
How fur from Heck's position all th' rest can 

disagree. 

Heck's always crowded full o' facts — an' figgers, 
too, I'll state — 

So don't go at him half-informed when itchin' 
fer debate! 

But, to my mind. Heck's funniest when he be- 
gins, off-hand, 

A-talkin' scientific stuff th' rest don't understand. 

He gits all loaded up with facts that can not be 
denied. 

Then holds th' boys in magic spell — just clean, 
plum mystified! 

lO 



HECK HUTTON 

Heck Hutton, down at Tailholt, ain't concerned 

with wealth or style; 
He'll take a grin most any time an* swap it fer a 

smile. 
He may be just a tinker on th' common wares 

of life, 
But Heck's a true mechanic, too, at patchin' woe 

an' strife. 
Fact is, good old Heck Hutton binds my soul to 

this belief — 
That smile o' his could solder up th' leaky eyes 

of Grief! 



II 



THE LATTICED PRISONER 

Each sunny day, when passing by, 

I catch the twinkle of her eye; 

I find a gladness in her smile 

That makes my passing well worth while. 

There's Heaven in the face of her — 

My little latticed prisoner! 

It is not hard to understand 
Why she is held with sturdy hand. 
But for that latticed gate she'd be 
Engaged in roving witchery, 
For as it is she holds complete 
The royal thraldom of our street. 

12 



THE LATTICED PRISONER 

I see her glances range afar 

And wonder what her dream-thoughts are. 

She knows the world goes on somewhere 

Beyond the comer of the square. 

The Grocery Boy, the Mail Man, too, 

Go down that way and pass from view. 

How long, she wonders, must she wait 
Till, challenging her latticed gate. 
Her feet, grown bolder, may be free 
To leave the Porch of Infancy ? 
The Corner first — and then the Square — 
And then the boundless Everywhere ! 



13 



THE HILLS OF INDIANA 

The hills of Indiana 

All are happy hills to me, 
A page of high-and-byway 

Out of God's geography. 
The prairies may be richer 

In their providential soil. 
But give me hills for haven 

When I'm tired of men and toil. 

The hills of Indiana 

Roll and tumble all about 
As children do, at bedtime, 

When they have their riot out. 
The comradeship of nature 

Is a comradeship of all ; 
The big hills never bully 

Little hills because they're small. 
14 



THE HILLS OF INDIANA 

The hills of Indiana 

Are not so unfriendly steep 
They glory, like a hermit, 

In a lone, seclusive sleep. 
Instead they offer pathways 

To each flower-favored crest, 
Where city-weary pilgrims 

May find happiness and rest. 

The hills of Indiana 

Seem to know and understand 
They are celestial stairways 

Fashioned by a Master Hand. 
They lead us up and upward 

As though, in a friendly part. 
When we fare forth to Heaven 

They'll give us a better start ! 



IS 



WHEN AIN'T NOBODY HOME 

When ain't nobody home ! Gee whiz, 
That's 'bout th' toughest time there is I 
Come home from school an' run around 
To where your Mother's always found 
An' she ain't there I Th' kitchen's dark 
An' locked as fast as Noah's Ark. 
Th' front door, too, is bolted tight 
An', gee, it's purty nearly night ! 

You feel a lonesome feelin' come, 
Your heart beats sad — just like a drum 
When some one's dead — an' there's a gloom 
Around your house like it's a tomb. 
You peep in through th' window, too. 
An' all inside looks cold an' blue. 
An' then there comes that awful dread — 
Some one's been there an' killed her dead ! 

i6 



WHEN AIN^T NOBODY HOME 

You think you smell th' flowers an' see 
Those cards that say "In Sympathy." 
Then you begin to think it's true 
How awful good she was to you. 
Oh, if she'd just unlock that door 
You'd never sass her any more. 
You'd never sit around an' pout 
When ashes must be carried out. 

Oh, there's a million things you*d do 
If only she'd come back to you. 
You'd leave th' cookies on th' shelf; 
You'd wash behind your ears yourself. 
You'd — Who's that comin' up th' street? 
Whose footfall could be half as sweet? 
It's her ! Your mother, sweet an' good — 
She's just been 'round th' neighborhood! 



THE RUBBERNECKS 

When I hear people fume an' fuss 
About th' selfishness in us, 
It's then I joy to p'int a case 
Wherein this earth's a happy place. 

Two little neighbor boys I know, 
One of 'em's Crip, th' other's Joe. 
Crip he's a cripple, as you'd guess. 
But he don't peddle his distress. 

Joe's just a reg'lar normal kid 
Possessed of smiles he can't keep hid. 
An' somehow, too, I've always found 
Joe smiles th' most when Crip's around. 

Crip's little legs is dead as ore. 
But Joe says his is good as four, 
An' so this happy, care-free pair 
Goes gallivantin' everywhere*, 

iS 



THE RUBBERNECKS 

They've got a old, discarded rig 
Some baby's had that got too big. 
They call it ^'Rubberneck" 'cause they 
Do nothin' else th' livelong day. 

Joe loads Crip up, then off they go 
An' stop at ever' picture show 
To see who's playin' there an' grin 
At all th' folks a-goin' in. 

They're never home — both out an' gone 
Where there's excitement goin' on; 
A fire, a fight, a dancin' bear — 
Th' "Rubbernecks" is first ones there! 

Why, I once heard a sergeant say 
He'd bet that on th' Judgment Day, 
When Heaven's gates was opened wide. 
Them pals would be th' first inside! 



19 



POSTMASTER TREE 

Of all our postmasters, I know you'll agree. 
The queerest of all is old Postmaster Tree. 

Way down by the Crossroads, in sun, rain and 

hail, 
He gives out and gathers the neighborhood mail. 

His sturdy old trunk holds the boxes storm-proof; 
His widespreading boughs are the post-office 
roof. 

He never is prying, in fact, IVe heard said 
Of thousands of postals, not one has he read ! 

Nobody complains that — of all faults the worst — 
He gets your newspaper and then reads it first. 

Still, somehow, I feel the old Postmaster knows 
When he gives us gladness or adds to our woes. 

20 



POSTMASTER TREE 

I know his leaves giggle when Romance unlocks 
And finds a sweet missive secure in his box. 

Then, sometimes, he sighs when to Love he must 

say: 
"I'm sorry, my dear, but there's nothing to-day." 

To some he brings treasure, to many their bills; 
To all printed promise to cure human ills. 

But, oh, the one letter that fills him with joy, 
Begins with "Dear Mother'* and ends with "Your 
Boy!" 



21 



WHO SAYS WHEN IT'S MARBLE TIME? 

Who says when it's marble time? Who pro- 
claims the day 

Boys should get their marbles out, then begin to 
play? 

Governors nor presidents never yet have said : 
*'Time to get your marbles out, Skinny, Smoke 
and Red!" 

Robins sometimes say that Spring now is here 

to stay, 
Then a blizzard comes along and they fly away. 

Who tells boys that Spring is here? How are 

they to know 
We may not have weather yet twenty-three 

below ? 

2a 



WHO SAYS WHEN IT^S MARBLE TIME? 

But, just let a sunny day linger hereabout, 
Then, hke magic, all the guys get their marbles 
out! 

Yes, It's here! It's marble time everywhere in 

town; 
All you hear is: "Git on taws!" "Hey, you, 

knuckle down!" 

Then, another mystery holds me in its sway — 
Who finds last year's marble bag? Who put it 
away i 

Boys have fleeting memories — that all mothers 

know — 
Boys can't find a hat or coat left an hour ago! 

But, Just let that mystic time — marble time — 

come 'round; 
Somehow, somewhere, marble bags always can 

be found. 



23 



WHO SAYS WHEN IT^S MARBLE TIME? 

Who says when it's marble time ? How are boys 

to know 
We may not have weather yet twenty-three 

below ? 



24 



CHAWBERRY 

Dink he's ist so big an' jolly! 

Dink he say to me : "By golly, 

You need sumfin' cool an' pleasant — 

How'd you like to have a present 

Of a bottle cold as ice is? 

We should worry what the price is !" 

I don't want to be contrary, 

So I takes some pop — chawberry. 

Dink ist laugh an' say It's funny 
How I help him spend his money. 
He say, too, us wimmen make himi 
Spend till we ist 'bout near break him. 
Dink don't care if he ain't wealthy, 
Long as little girls is healthy. 
Still, he say, he can't help finkin' 
I'll ist die th' way I'm drinkin'. 

25 



CHAWBERRY 

Dink say, too, Fm sure contrary 
Way I all time take chawberry! 
He say, why, he'll buy my fill o' 
Lemon, grape or else banila, 
If I'll drink it— well, I tried it. 
But when it got down inside it 
Didn't make me feel so very 
Awful good — like ist chawberry ! 

Dink sometimes he gits me cryin 
When he say he knows I'm dyin' 
With my insides painted inkish 
From chawberry bein' pinkish. 
Still, he say^ if I'm a-livin' 
Easter time I'll git forgiven, 
'Cause if I keep up my habit 
I can dye eggs for th' rabbit ! 



26 



THE TRADER IN DREAMS 

You MAY know my old friend, The Trader in 

Dreams ; 
Perhaps he has shown you his wares and his 

schemes. 
His shop is a park bench, his roof-top a tree. 
His stock an odd lot only dream-eyes can see. 

Just s5t there beside him on some sunny day. 
He'll sell you a Joy that he has on display. 
He'll bring out a Hope, a sweet dream that 

endures, 
And quickly convince you it ought to be yours. 

Ask him for a Glum and he'll proudly declare 
You'll find none of that in his stock anywhere. 
In fact he will say, in a manner that cheers, 
He's not had a Glum or a Grumble in years. 

27 



THE TRADER IN DREAMS 

Ah, no ! All his wares are of smiling design ; 
Just say: "Well, how's business?" He'll answer 

you: "Fine!" 
And forthwith he'll bring to your fanciful view 
Some wonderful Dreams that he knows will come 

true. 

His wealth, he will tell you, is not sordid gold ; 
He treasures his soul, though his body is old. 
He calculates Youth as still his till the day 
His shop must be closed and his dreams fade 
away. 

He thinks of To-morrow as his to enjoy — 
Though Time may deny him, he'll dream he's a 

boy. 
For he is quite certain To-morrows are sold 
Without guarantee to the Young or the Old. 

So there the Dream-trader sits, waiting for you 
To swap him a Smile for a Day-dream or two, 
But what I like most is his generous whim — 
He wants all the world to be partner with him ! 



28 



THE BUTTER-BREAD BANDIT 

Like some bold bandit prince he came. 
His eyes af lash, his soul aflame ; 
His raiment was of bandit style. 
He wore a bandit's careless smile. 

His swagger stride, 'twas plain to see. 
Was born of practised tyranny; 
His armament was crude enough, 
And yet it bore a mighty bluff. 

We barkened for his cold commands 
To each of us to raise our hands ; 
Instead he passed — as grim as gore — 
Then vanished through the kitchen door. 

We listened — listened till we heard 
His mother get the fatal word : 
"You'd better git some butter-bread 
Or peril lies upon your head !'* 

29 



THE BUTTER-BREAD BANDIT 

His mother called for help — but, no ! 
Not one of us would dare to go ! 
"You'd better feed the knave," we said. 
"That bandit wants some butter-bread !" 

The bandit laughed in fiendish glee. 
He'd won his battle bloodlessly ! 
Then soon we saw him marching by, 
A look of triumph in his eye. 

Fast in his clutches he displayed 
The profits of his daring raid. 
Down on the steps he boldly sat, 
A soul content and waxing fat. 

How eagerly he downed each crumb; 
He smacked his lips, he licked his thumb. 
Then came a yawn — long, sweet and deep — 
Our bold, bad bandit was asleep ! 



30 



"IS 'AT SO?" 

Full many a fight has gone un fought, 
And many a coffin's yet unbought 
Because mere words sufficed to do 
What bullets did at Waterloo. 
Take Youth — how often Youth escapes 
The dire effect of many scrapes 
By using words in bandied flow 
To halt a hard, impending blow : 
"Is 'at so?" 

"Yes, 'at'sso!" 

"Oh, is 'at so?" 

With faces drawn in boyish wrath 
Youth waits for Youth to cross its path. 
Fists grip for fight, but fists don't fly 
Till one has met the other's eye. 

31 



'^IS^AT SO?" 

And so it is that words must do 
The fighting neither's wanting to. 
They stand at guard, with toe to toe, 
But here's as far as they will go : 
"Is 'at so?" 

"Yes, 'at's so!" 

"Oh, is 'at so?" 

How peaceful this old world would be 
If men showed such diplomacy ! 
Full many a tear would go unshed 
If blows were made of words instead 
Of bullets, guns and tools of war — 
Tools humankind should e'er abhor! 
Far better it would be to show 
That words are all of war we know : 
"Is 'at so?" 

"Yes, 'at's so!" 

"Oh, is 'at so?" 



32 



RIDIN' AROUND 

They's some kids got their auto-beels, 
An' some has skates an' some has wheels. 
But they ain't got no old horse, Bill, 
An' what's still more — they never will! 

Ain't none o' them got Dads 'at goes 
An' transfers things fer folks he knows; 
Ain't none o' them 'at gits to see 
Th' whole wide town th' same as me. 

I bet their Dads don't never say: 
**Well, Bud, you gonna 'long to-day?" 
An' then they don't git up beside 
Their Dad an' ist sit there an' ride! 

I do — you betcha ! — ever' day ! 
An' it's more fun than reg'lar play 
'Cause I see things you never see 
'Less you're along with Dad an' me. 

33 



RIDIN* AROUND 



We drive down alleys to th' stores 
Where Dad loads boxes from their doors, 
An' one day was a man *at hit 
His thumb fer nails — an' cussed at it I 

An* we go down among th' trains 
An' git in box cars when it rains ; 
Oh, yes, an' once was man give me 
His pie because it don't agree. 

An' sometimes mans they tease me so 
I want to fight — but let 'em go. 
An' sometimes, too, when I git mad 
They pay me so's to git me glad. 

Night comes along an' Dad an' me 
Go home ist tired as we can be, 
Then Mother says to us : ''Gee whiz. 
You're hardest workin' boys they is!" 



34 



THE RUNAWAY SHOES 

Four big shoes came down the street, 

Clatter! Clatter! Qatter! 
Inside the shoes were four small feet. 

Patter! Patter! Patter! 
And then we heard the children say 
They'd had an awful runaway — 
Oh, they had had a merry day! 
Chatter! Chatter! Chatter! 

It all began when Mother said 

Sadly! Sadly! Sadly! 
She'd rather see her children dead. 

Gladly 1 Gladly 1 Gladly! 
Than have them go some other way 
Than in their Dad's steps — day by day — 
*T would make her feel a deep dismay^-^ 

Badlyl Badly! Badly] 

35 



THE RUNAWAY SHOES 

The children thought, to fill Dad's shoes 

Fully! Fully! Fully! 
They'd find two pairs and take a cruise — 

Bully! Bully! Bully! 
But when they got inside to go 
They found them filled with tickle-toe — 
They had his hunting shoes, you know ; 

Woolly! Woolly! Woolly! 

The children laughed in keen delight. 

Merry! Merry! Merry! 
Although the shoes had caused a fright — ■ 

Scary! Scary! Scary! 
At first the shoes ran off, they say, 
But all got home at close of day — 
Glad Daddy trained his shoes that way; 

Very ! Very ! Very ! 



36 



PUNKINHEADS 

I BETCHA I'm got Uncles home 

'At's badder ones 'an yours, 
My Muvver say she ist don't know 

How my poor soul endures. 
Uspecially on Hallowe'ens 

I stand an* hold my breath, 
'Cause nen my Uncles alius come 

An' skeer me half to death. 
But what I think most worst of all 

An' makes me mad all through 
Is when they make a punkinhead, 

Nen says it looks like you. 

They stand me up right by its side, 
Nen says : "Now ain't 'at rich ?- 

We've got two punkinfaces here 
An' can't tell which is which!" 

37 



PUNKINHEADS 

Oh, they ist laugh an' holler, too, 

An' say they'll try an' see 
If they can cut another face 

'At don't resemble me. 
But when they cut anotlier one 

My Muvver's bruvver Jim 
He say : **Now ain't it Ist too bad ? — 

This here one flatters him I" 

Nen Uncle Curt he scratch his head 

An' say to us he guessed 
Th* way to tell a punkinhead 

Was make a bumpin' test. 
Next thing he bumps my head an' nen 

He bumps th' punkin's, too, 
An' say: "Well, ain't 'at terrible? — 

Th' punkinhead is you !" 
But 'fore I git a chanst to cry 

They hug me in between 
An' make me laugh an' holler till 

I'm glad it's Hallowe'en! 



38 



THE BOOKWORM 

Dear little baby bookworm, deep in your storied 

thrill; 
How is my old friend Jack to-day, and did he 

marry Jill? 
Come now, let's have the gossip; give me some 

news that cheers, 
Tell me of dear old friends of mine I haven't 

seen for years. 

Tell me of Tom, the Piper's Son — the one who 

stole the pig — 
You say he's just the same to-day and never did 

grow big? 
!A!nd — yes, of course — Red Riding Hood! Has 

she a red hood still? 
Did Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater ever get his fill ? 

39 



THE BOOKWORM 

And then — let's see — the two old Spratts who 

never quarreled at meat — 
I wonder if, as things now are, they get enough 

to eat? 
Has Mother Hubbard's poor old dog yet found 

a friendly bone? 
Is Little Jack Homer still in the corner eating 

his pie alone? 

There's Old King Cole and — yes, oh yes! — 

The Woman Who Lived in a Shoe ; 
Her children now must be grown up and have big 

families, too! 
Tell me of all our good old friends — I'll thank 

you if you will — 
I'm in my second childhood now and need a 

second thrill! 



5J.O 



AT GRANNY'S HOUSE 

At granny's house things somehow seem 
Like they ain't real — all just a dream 
Of days when Granny used to be 
'Bout big as half as big as me. 

We like to sit in Granny's door 
An' hear what she calls "days of yore," 
Which Granny says was 'way back there 
When sense was sense an' men was square. 

Why, Granny says, one man back then, 
If he was here, would be worth ten. 
An' she says wimmen, too, could work 
As hard as some now sit an' shirk. 

She says to-day things don't endure; 
Why, just look at th' furniture ! 
You ain't got rockers more'n a week 
Till the}r break down er start to squeak. 



AT GRANNY S HOUSE 

Them days when folks got wed it stuck—* 
Judge didn't care who had bad luck. 
An' Granny says th' wimmens then 
Got out o' bed 'fore half pas' ten. 

Oh, Granny's mad th' way things is — 
Girls ought to git th' rheumatiz ! 
An' she can't stand th' way that they 
Wear Sunday dresses every day ! 

An' sausage now is all a sin 

Th' way it's got th' cornmeal in ; 

Afi' folks back then cooked fer theirselves 

An' don't git meab from grocery shelves. 

Oh gee, but Granny's mad th' way 
This world's turned out to be to-day. 
Still, what I can't git through my head 
Is why such good folks all is dead ! 



42 



THE STREET SCALE 

I AM The Street Scale — free to all ! — 
The thin, the thick, the great, the small; 
The meek, the bold, the grave, the gay — 
I tell them all how much they weigh. 

Yet, when I tell them, it's a fright 

The way they bawl : "Them scales ain't right !" 

I'm either *'over" or "below" — 

But always wrong they all well know. 

Miss Thin comes up and waits to be 
A confidante, alone with me. 
But I can't cheat — my hand goes 'round 
And, heaven's sake! — she's lost a pound! 

Then Mrs. Thick comes slyly up, 
Takes off her furs and powders up. 
She tries me out — ^my hand goes 'round 
And, heaven's sake! — she's gained a pound! 

43 



THE STREET SCALE 

Miss Thin declares it isn't true 
That starches put a pound on you; 
Says Mrs. Thick, the pyramid: 
"That's what that blamed potato did I" 

Yet, to their friends, I hear them say : 
"Oh, I don't care how much I weigh. 
It makes me tired how some folks stew 
About their weight the way they do.'* 

No, they don't care — but off they'll trot 
And try a penny-in-the-slot ; 
They hope, somehow, the pay machine 
Will lean the fat or fat the lean I 



44 



THE CREEK THAT RUNS THROUGH 

TOWN 

Of all the things that Nature does, 

In rambhng up and down, 
The oddest trait of all, I think. 

Is bringing creeks to town. 
A creek is of the country born, 

By birthright fair and free. 
And why it wants to come to town 

Has always puzzled me. 

But oftentimes we see one flow, 

In dark and sullen tide. 
Where beauty long has been forgot 

And ugly things abide ; 
Where discards of the store and shop, 

Of house and crowded inn. 
Make what was once a pebbled way 

A trough of battered tin. 

45 



THE CREEK THAT RUNS THROUGH TOWN 

Here lies a useless, broken stove; 

There drifts a baby's shoe; 
Beneath the bridge a washboard's wreck, 

A cast-off tub or two. 
The water lolls by empty cans, 

Plays tag along the shore 
With broken bottles, broken toys, 

And derelicts galore. 

I sometimes think a city creek 

Of country birth pretends 
To do these ugly, common things 

For other happy ends. 
In fact I think they come to town 

In sweet and friendly quest 
For those of us who might be lured 

To where they're loveliest ! 



46 



THE BARNYARD BAND 

Fm got a Barnyard Band 'at plays 

As good as reg'lar bands. 
An' it can play all differnt ways 

'Thout neither horns rier hands. 

It's out in Gramma's chicken yard. 
You know where Gramma's is; 

'At's where we go when Pa's worked hard 
Or got his rheumatiz. 

Well, Gramma she's got chickens there, 

An' geese an' guinea hens. 
An' ducks an' turkeys ever' where. 

An' pigs inside th' pens. 

An' when ain't nothin' else to do. 
Like eat an' things like that, 

Nen's when I like to go down to 
Where Gramma's poultry's at. 

A7 



THE BARNYARD BAND 

I always take some jam an' bread 

Like it's all ist fer me, 
Nen if them poultry s ain't been fed — 

Well, you ist ought to seel 

'At's when th' Band begins to play, 
An' when I throw 'em crumbs, 

They play their horns ist ever' way — 
Woodpecker he's th' drums I 

Pigs they're th' big bass horn, you bet, 
An' roosters, when they crow 

Are ever' one a clarinet, 
Th' guineas — piccolo. 

An' Gramma says she knows th' tune 
My Band ist all time play ; 

She says 'at morning, night an' noon 
It's always "Perfect Day!" 



^ 



CLOUD-CHILDREN 

I THINK of clouds as children of the sky ; 
They have their moods as children do — they cry, 
They laugh, they romp, they roll and toss about — 
One moment beautiful, then changing, sulk and 
pout. 

Sometimes, at morning, they come trooping in 
Like children do — to beg that play begin ! 
Their fleecy garments, worn in care-free way, 
Show well their mood to have a holiday. 

They dance along the morning's open sky, 
Play hide-and-seek with comrades passing by ; 
The friendly sun comes up to find them there. 
And, beaming, makes their playground doubly 
fair. 

49 



CLOUD- CHILDREN 

Yes, Clouds have moods as children do — from joy 
They fly in reckless tantrum and destroy 
Things that to them no simple harm has done — 
The widow's house, or her last hope — her son! 

I like the dreamy sunset clouds the best. 
When they, day-weary, anchor in the west. 
I think of them as something soft and warm. 
Unskilled in all the banditry of storm. 

And then, sometimes, the white clouds are a nook 
The angels slip down into, just to look 
Down in our hearts at closer range — a quest 
To see which child of us is happiest ! 



SO 



NEIGHBORS 

A RICKETY Rocking-chair swayed to and fro 

In front of a Second-hand Store ; 
You could tell it was sad, for it wearily sighed : 

"This I never have done before. 
I once was a dweller in Well-to-do Street, 

But when I grew wabbly and old 
They put me out back of the kitchen and then — 

Ah, then I was bartered and sold." 

"I thought I knew you/' the Baby's Chair said. 

"You once were a neighbor of mine. 
My babies grew up and — well, you understand — 

What else could I do but resign?" 
The Kitchen Stove laughed as old Pitcher and 
Bowl 

Exclaimed : "We're the victimg of Fate — 
We, too, were discarded by neighbors of yours ; 

Antiques that are called out of date !" 

51 



NEIGHBORS 

An old-fashioned Bedstead, with Bureau to 
match, 

Near fractured its last able slat 
In telling how all their relations had gone 

To live in a Pullmanized flat. 
The discards were cheering each other with jest 

When, like a joy-beam from the sky, 
A happy old darky came shambling along 

To barter a while and to buy. 

"Ah's done'n got married ag'in," he explained. 

"Ah needs all dis stuff heah yo' got." 
And so, in a jiffy, the bargain was made — 

The discards were bought in a lot. 
"It's wonderful luck!" old Rocking-chair cried. 

"It's wonderful luck we are in ; 
We ought to be happy the rest of our days — 

We're now more than neighbors — we're 
kin!" 



S2 



TANTALIZIN' DAYS 

Heah come dem Tantalizin' Days, 
Wif half-time sun an' half-time haze, 
De kind dat wraps yo' in a maze 

Ob Springtime dreams. 
Yo' sit outside an' soak up sun 
An' tell yo'se'f ole Wintah's done — • 
Dog-gone! Yo' fool thoughts even run 

To catfish streams. 

Yo' go to bed at night an' pray 

De sun to-mor' shine lak to-day, 

But w'en yo' wake — out dah dey lay — 

Ole snow an' sleet! 
Folks, 'tain' no use to growl an' pout, 
De good Lawd knows whut He's about — 
Des grab whut sunshine He gibs out 

An' call it sweet! 

53 



THE PATIENT FRIEND 

We speak of patience as a worthy trait, 
So few of us have calm to watch and wait ; 
Instead with restless eye we scan the street 
For some belated friend we'd come to meet. 

We wander up and down, declaring then 
That never would we watch and wait again. 
Impatience ! How it serves unhappy ends 
To make tornado centers of our friends ! 

I feel a pity for myself to see 
A dog out watching, waiting — patiently ! 
Sweet hope, and not rebuke, is in his eye 
As closely he reviews each passer-by. 

The hours that pass are but a simple crumb 
Compared with that sweet morsel yet to come; 
That stroke of head, that moment he'll extend 
His paw to welcome you — his dearest friend ! 

54 



THE PATIENT FRIEND 

That wagging tail — increasing in its beat 
As feet familiar echo to him from the street; 
Those beaming eyes that, somehow, seem to say 
The wait was long — but one smile is his pay ! 

And how the ardor of the greeting grows 

As through the door, up-stairs and down^ he 

goes, 
That shaggy head, caressing hand and knee 
To show how glad a happy dog can be. 

We speak of patience as a worthy trait, 
So few of us have calm to watch and wait. 
But I believe that on The Other Shore 
Our dogs will be there — watching at the door! 



55 



HAVE YOU BEEN TO SEE "OCTOBER"? 

Have you been to see "October" ? 

Autumn's hue-gigantic show. 
With its carnival of color 

And its galaxy of glow? 
Not a stage in all creation 

Has an arch with nobler spans; 
Where is there a sweeter chorus? 

Where such cute comedians? 

You don't have to wait for ushers 

To escort you down the aisle; 
There's no war tax or admission — 

All you have to do is smile ! 
And the orchestra is waiting 

For the audience to come; 
In the woods the nuts are falling 

Till they rattle like a drum. 

56 



HAVE YOU BEEN TO SEE OCTOBER ? 

Corn shocks make the stately chorus, 

And they sing with all their might 
When the wind goes whistling through them 

Like a ballet dancer's flight. 
As comedians the pumpkins 

Are without a peer, you'll say. 
For they loll there, fat and giggly, 

Like a clown on circus day. 

It's a great show, is "October," 

One all humankind should see; 
So, come on! Let's seek the country 1 

Be a gallery god with me ! 
On a friendly fence or gate post 

We will revel in its glow. 
And be glad God made "October" 

Such a joy-abundant show! 



57 



fTHE WAYFARER'S VALENTINE 

The wayfarer longed for an old valentine, 
One blessed with a sentiment memory-divine. 
But where would he find it? Somewhere there 

must be 
A friend with a thought for such roamers as he. 

He journeyed along and soon came to a stop 
In front of the door of a florist's gay shop. 
He looked in the window, the wayfarer's shrine, 
l\nd there he beheld it — his dream valentine ! 

A vase filled with flowers of varying hue 
Made Memory pass in a fragrant review. 
He saw in the roses and violets gay 
A girl of the past — of St. Valentine's Day ! 

58 



THE WAYFARER S VALENTINE 

It brought him a vision of Youth's golden hours 
When he had made Love tell its story with 

flowers ; 
When some simple posy had gone on its way 
To tell her the things that his tongue couldn't say. 

The Wayfarer wondered just where she had gone, 
The years had been many since Love's happy 

dawn. 
So he said to himself, as he sauntered away. 
He would send her a rose-thought on Valentine's 

Day! 



59 



THE DESERTED INN 

To ME a graveyard seems a quiet Inn, 

If name it bore 'twould be "The Travelers' 
Rest"; 

Each stone I liken to the register, 

Each grave the room of some abiding guest. 

To-day, v^here once an Inn of many beds 

Gave sweet repose to all who entered there, 

I found the register — but broken stones 

In careless piles — the rooms deserted^ bare! 

I walked among the stones and read the names, 
All once familiar in the ways of life; 

The Tapster, Tinker, Tanner, Poet, Judge — 
Each with his suite for progeny and wife. 

60 



THE DESERTED INN 

But whither have these peaceful dwellers gone? 

The registers no longer mark their rooms, 
For here the stones, in ugly, shattered mass, 

Lie far removed from once tear-hallowed 
tombs. 

Here Commerce, like some bold, intruding 
knave. 
Has wrecked the Inn and left the record 
bare; 
Its grassy carpets, once the keeper's pride, 
Give heedless feet a daily thoroughfare. 

Carved on the stones are sentiments of love, 

One — ''Gone, but not forgotten" — seemed to 
be 

A cry as from some restless spirit host 
To hold their Inn in sweeter sanctity. 

And so I wonder what their fate will be 

When this old world from its long labor 
rests ; 
How, when the hour of life's Glad Morning 
comes. 
Shall the Archangel find his sleeping guests ? 
6j 



IN MEMORY'S GARDEN 

When Mother walks among the trees 
And in her garden, blossom-fair, 

I fancy, somehow, that she sees 

More than mere flowers blooming there. 

Her dear old eyes take on a gloiv^ 

And on her face a smile-beam plays 

As through her heart there seems to flow 
Fond memories of other days. 

The Johnny-jump-ups are to her 

Old friends she knew in girlhood years, 
As half-forgotten things recur 

In blended bursts of smiles and tears. 

Each Johnny's face, somehow, recalls 
Another face she used to know 

In playground haunts, in schoolroom halls, 
Or where the daisies used to grow. 
62 



IN memory's garden 



The tulips all are little tots 

Parading 'round in Sunday dress ; 
Far prouder than forget-me-nots, 

Which boast unrivaled loveliness. 

The humble dandelion, too. 

Is some towheaded neighbor boy; 
The violets sweet girls in blue 

Who made her play-days days of joy. 

She touches each fair flower there. 
Enshrines it as a holy thing; 

She feels the warm breeze in her hair 
And thanks God for another Spring I 



63 



LITTLE GRAY CHURCH IN THE CIRCLE 

An Easter Thought of Christ Church 

Flanked by the walls that men have made 
To meet the needs of men and trade, 
You seem, in calm, sweet voice, to say : 
"Come unto me! Come, rest and pray!" 

Little Gray Church in the Circle. 
For saint and sinner, churl and cad; 
For young and old, the gay, the sad, 
Your chiming bells, by day, by night, 
Ring out the prayer, "Lead, Kindly Light!" 

Little Gray Church in the Circle. 

Though some may think all creeds are vain, 
Doubt even God when racked with pain; 
Your friendly portals breathe of peace 
That makes all doubting quickly cease — 
Little Gray Church in the Circle. 
64 



LITTLE GRAY CHURCH IN THE CIRCLE 

Your slender spire points to the sky 
And thrills the vagrant passer-by. 
It makes him feel a presence sweet 
To cross your shadow in the street — 
Little Gray Church in the Circle. 

And now, when dawns the Eastertide, 
Somehow you seem more glorified! 
The green grass growing at your door 
Proclaims the Springtime here once more- 
Little Gray Church in the Circle. 
The vines that trail your walls — reborn — 
Are symbols of the Easter morn ; 
For He who slept awakened, too, 
That old things might be changed to new- 
Little Gray Church m the Circle. 



6s 



THE FUNNY CAKES THE BAKER MAKES 

The funny Cakes the Baker Makes 

Are queer as they can be; 
There's Circus Days an' Hallowe'ens 

An' Christmases all three! 

There's cakes for every holiday, 

The Easter rabbit's one; 
A hatchet, too, has been all baked 

For old George Washington. 

The Baker he makes A B C's, 

Which I don't like so well, 
'Cause grown-up peoples give you words 

They don't know how to spell. 

My fav'rite cakes Is animals, 

Like elephants an' bears, 
Or cows an' sheeps an' guinea pigs 

You see at county fairs. 
66 



THE FUNNY CAKES THE BAKER MAKES 

'Course animals is funniest 

Of all the cakes 'at's made ; 

You think it's truly Circus Day\ 
When they go on parade. 

Sometimes I play it's raining, too. 
An' all the world is dark; 

Nen put 'em in our chiffonier 
Like it was Noah's Ark. 

The Funny Cakes the Baker Makes 

Git me to laughing so 
My Mother says some day I'll bu'st 

An' then turn into dougR 

I wouldn't mind if I could be 
A Baker's Cake — an' yet 

Some bad kid might git hold o' me, 
Nen — gosh! — I might git e'tl 



67 



EMPTY JUG 

Ever pack water fer thrashermen ? Say, 
Don't pick that job fer no glad holiday ! 
Thrashers could drink a whole ocean, I bet, 
Then swear their whistles ain't even been wet. 

You give a thrasher a full jug, an' then 
All there's to do is go fill it again. 
Once he can pucker his lips at th' hole. 
He'll fill his pockets, his body an' soul. 

Furder you git from th' well's coolin' brink 
Seems like th' deeper them thrashermen drink. 
Then they start hollerin' ; "Boy ! Water boy ! 
Where you git water at? West Illinoy?" 

Start in at daylight an' you never quit 
Till it's clean dinner-time — then as you sit 
Eatin' an' weary th' thrashermen say: 
"Where has that water boy been at all day?" 



EMPTY JUG 

Seems like th' afternoon never will end, 
Back gits so tired that it hardly won't bend, 
Still they keep hollerin': **Jumpin' gee whiz! 
Where you suppose old man Empty Jug is ?'* 

Say, ril bet Noah, with all of his flood. 
Never could keep his feet out o' th' mud 
If he was a water boy, tryin' in vain 
To water a thrasher with forty days' rain! 



69 



EVE ETERNAL! 

Sweet eve eternal! Wondrous night! 
Aglow with songs and candle-light; 
Aglow with dreams and mystic spells 
Of Santa Claus and Christmas bells! 

Oh, let my dreams of Youth run free! 
Glad Christmas Eves, come back to me! 
Change me to child ! Let me once more 
Go nightie-clad to Dreamland's door. 

It can not be ! So, Yule-beguiled, 
1*11 wish joy to some other child. 
My thoughts will follow up the stairs, 
Some baby, to its Christmas prayers. 

Its prayers will be for everything — 
Far more than Santa Claus could bring; 
But what are prayers if they, must be 
Of limit in gratuity? 

TO 



EVE ETERNAL' 

Make Santa*s Christmas pack so great 
He'll fairly groan beneath the weight. 
'Twill do no harm — so have no fear — 
He only works one night a year! 

May every prayer that's breathed to-night 
Be answered ere the dawn of light. 
May every heart, however sad, 
Find stockings filled with Loads of Glad! 



71 



THE FREE SHOW 

They is folks that git enjoyment 

Out of underground employment, 
An' they's some that like explorin' in th' sky, 

But th' fellers, I'm confessin', 

I can't measure as a blessin' 
Is th' window demonstrators for th' folks 
a-passin' by. 

Yes, I know I like to see 'em. 
But I wouldn't like to be 'em, 
Showin' how to sew on buttons, 'thout needle or 
a thread. 
They just stand there, meek as Moses, 
Goin' through their silent poses 
With some new electric door-knob or tonic for 
your head. 

72 



THE FREE SHOW 

Folks, somehow, I keep on wishin', 
For th' old free exhibition 
Like they used to have on Saturdays around th* 
public square. 
What I want's th' old Professor, 
Diamond-decked an' dandy dresser, 
With his liniment an' music an' dancin', prancin' 
pair. 

I can smell his torch a-bumin', 
I can see th' crowd a-churnin', 
While he raked in easy dollars — a basketful or 
more! 
I can hear th' banjoes ringin', 
I can hear his minstrels singin' 
'Bout Nelly Gray departin' from th' old Kentucky 
shore. 

Yes, I know th' demonstrator 
Gives a show that's up-to-dater. 
But he sends no music waftin' across th' evenin* 
air. 



71 



THE FREE SHOW 

What I want's th' old Professor, 
Diamond-decked and dandy dresser, 
With his liniment an* music an' dancing prancin* 
pair. 



X 



74 



IF EVERYTHING WENT JUST SO 

If everything went just so ! Ah, me, 
What a wonder-world this world would be; 
Nothing to do but grin and agree — 

If everything went just so. 
No use for lawyers or scrolls of law. 
No court-house stairway to climb in awe; 
No one would care what we heard or saw — 

If everything went just so. 

Taxes would never be hard to pay, 
First-of-the-month would be just a day; 
Debts would be luxuries laughed away — 

If everything went just so. 
Chickens would never scratch neighbors' yards, 
Children of neighbors would all be pards ; 
No one would lose at Life's game of cards — 

If everything went just so. 
75 



IF EVERYTHING WENT JUST SO 

Have family dinners and all be there, 
Each bring a smile and have smiles to spare ; 
Start with a songf and close with a prayer — 

If everything went just so. 
Clothes-lines would never have falling props, 
Windows would never be smashed by tops; 
Nobody ever would call the cops — 

If everything went just so. 

Doctors and nurses we would' not need, 
"Say it with flowers" would be our creed; 
We'd step on the gas and all show speed — 

If everything went just so. 
Never a worry and never a sob, 
Never an argument, never a mob; 
But, oh, the folks who'd be out of a job — 

If everything went just sol 



76 



A WAYSIDE WORLD 

I CAME upon a little world to-day, 
A world wherein true happiness held sway; 
Where Wind and Sun and Morning Dew, a-drip, 
Bound all about in Summer comradeship. 

A byroad to some Lower Forty led 
Far from the pike, where mighty motors sped; 
No sound came forth to break the morning's still, 
Save one glad lark, rehearsing on a hill. 

Oh, what a world it was, for here I saw 
No hint of hate, no monitor of law ; 
No preacher-voice was crying out: "Repent!" 
It was a world rose-fragrant with content. 

An old rail fence, half sunlit, half in shade. 
Was mother-knee 'round which wild roses 

played. 
Ambitious vines, like children at a game, 
Were rival climbers to the heights of fame. 

77 



A <WAYSIDE WORLD 

Toad winked at toad and Mister Lizard's sheen 
Was hard to scan against the grasses' green. 
Two rabbits scampered from their brush-abode 
And played at derby-horse along the road. 

A dog, still limping from the Winter's chase. 
Jogged down the dust with slow, uncaring pace. 
His presence gained no welcoming from me; 
The charm was lost — so was my reverie! 

I knew that now some man or boy must bring 
My new world to an end — wreck everything! 
For humankind, somehow, is out of scheme 
With Nature's joy — an Idler's woodland dream! 

**Nice day !" I heard a passing voice declare. 
"Nice day !" my own half-muttered to the air. 
"Nice day !" he piped, unmindful of my scorn. 
"It's gold for me ! So mighty good for corn !" 



78 



THE VANISHED FORUM 

Somehow I can't git anchored 

In th' sea of modern ways: 
My memory keeps on driftin' 

To'rd th' beach of other days. 
Now there's th' old post-office — 

Oh, I want it back ag'in 
With that glad-to-see-ye spirit 

Of th' neighbors droppin' in. 

No one denies it's handy 

Havin' mail right at yer door. 
But that don't settle questions 

Like we settled 'em before. 
A mail box at th' crossroads 

Is a blessin', 'thout a doubt, 
But It can't stand an' argy 

P'ints yer wantin' argied out. 

79 



THE VANISHED FORUM 

Th' old post-office lobby 

Was a lively place to be, 
When some one started somethin' 

An' nobody could agree. 
There was politics, religion: 

Subjects, too, of world-wide note, 
An' we'd stand 'bout fifty-fifty 

If they'd put it to a vote. 

Sometimes I git to thinkin', 

With th' old post-office back, 
Th' boys we send to Congress 

Might git on a clearer track. 
That old post-office lobby, 

Though they'd put it on the shelf, 
Struck me, in p'int of wisdom. 

Like a Congress in itself I 



So 



BREAKIN' IN 

Of all th' griefs there is, I bet, 
That fills a guy with sad regret, 
It's when your folks pack up some day 
An' take their things an' move away. 

Big folks, somehow, don't seem to mind 
A-leavin' good old pals behind, 
'Cause if they did they wouldn't do 
No movin' ever' week or two. 

Gee, ain't it tough to go an' make 
New gang friends just fer movin's sake? 
I don't believe there's nothin' worse 
Outside o' ridin' in a hearse. 

You don't no more than git moved in 
Till kids that live near by begin 
A-snoopin' 'round to slip a bluff 
An' make you think they're awful tough. 

8i 



breakin' in 

"Hello there, Willie!" they ixclaim, 
But they don't know that ain't your name. 
An' then they poke at you an' laugh 
To see if you're a "cowardy calf." 

Next thing they say : "Oh say, gee whiz. 
That poor guy's got th' rheumatiz. 
If he ain't dead he's purty near 
An' we don't want no corpses here.'* 

Well, gee, there's nothin' else to do 
But haul right off an' bu'st a few, 
Then you belong — you're tooken in 
Until your blamed folks move ag'in. 



82 



THE LOG OF THE LIMPY LOU 

She^s a four-lung craft 

Jammed for'ud an' aft 
[With th' junk of a care-free crew, 

An' th' sea she sails 

Is th' far-flung trails 
An' we calls her th' Limpy Lou. 

Lou wuzn't designed 

Per no folks refined, 
An' she ain't got no racing fame ; 

Her old tires go flat 

An' she limps from that, 
But she gits us there just th' same. 

She's pal to us three — 

Wife, Kiddie an' me — 
An' she don't care how fur we roam; 

Lou seems to surmise 

We're vagabond guys 
With nothin' but her fer a home. 

83 



THE LOG OF THE LIMPY LOU 

Through city an' town, 

Up hill an' then down, 
We jog on our gypsyin' way; 

Just goin' No-where 

An' when we git there 
Perhaps we may like it an' stay. 

An', oh, it's a treat 

When time comes to eat, 
Th' bacon's all crispy an' brown; 

There's beans in th^ pot, 

Th' coffee's all hot — 
It ain't that sweet flavored in town. 

We tumble, kerplunk. 

In a tree-roofed bunk 
An' sleep till th' break o' th' dawn, 

Then old Limpy Lou 

Takes on her glad crew. 
Slips out to th* road — an' we're gone! 



84 



LITTLE MISTER FIXER MAN 

Little Mister Fixer Man 
Fixes everything he can; 

In his overalls of blue 

He goes seeking things to do. 

Hainmers, wrenches, planes and saws- 
All the tools that are his Pa's^ — * 

Have to put in mighty licks 

When that boy has things to fix. 

Little Mister Fixer Man 

Fills the family frying pan 
With a lot of screws and nails, 

Then starts in to fill the pails! 
Oh, it takes a lot of stuff 

Ere The Fixer has enough 
To repair the woodshed lock 

Or the old Seth Thomas clock. 

«5 



LITTLE MISTER FIXER MAN 

Little Mister Fixer Man 

Has his own wage-earning plan; 

When the cookie jar won't pay- 
He won't do a lick that day! 

But, if it is full, then he 

Labors on most zealously. | 

His pay must be "in advance" — | 

Fixer never takes a chance. 

Little Mister Fixer Man 

Fixes everything he can; 
Fixes things quite frequently 

Just the way they should not be. 
Still, who cares to count the cost? 

He's worth more than all that's lost. 
It's worth all to hear him say : ^ 

"Gee, I'm tired! I've worked to-day!" f. 



86 j 



THE TREE NOBODY BOUGHT 

When Christmas, crowned with happiness. 

Goes down its ancient way 
To anchor in the memory-mists 

Of Sweet-forever Bay, 
Just one dark thought it leaves behind, 

To me with sadness fraught ; 
It is that little, lonesome thing — 

The Tree Nobody Bought! 

I don't feel so about a toy, 

A doll, a train or drum; 
They live for other Christmases — 

The happy ones to come. 
Not so with this year's Christmas Tree, 

But once it serves the cause 
Of gladdening sweet babyhood 

And good old Santa Claus. 
8/ 



THE TREE NOBODY BOUGHT 

How doubly tragic is the fate 

Of trees that never know 
The gladness of a Christmas mom 

With candles all aglow. 
I speak for those that lie unclaimed 

Along the thoroughfare 
When Santa Claus has come and gone 

And still they linger there. 

Poor little things! How desolate, 

How friendless they appear; 
They who had come from distant hills 

To spread their gladness here. 
Still, I believe that trees have souls 

And in some other clime 
They'll get to be what they most wished- 

A Christmas Tree — some time! 



88 



SAID THE TRAFFIC COP, SMILINGLY 

Yes^ of course, it's all a nuisance, 

Traffic rules are pests, I know; 
I'd be glad, if I were Captain, 

Just to wink and let you go. 
But I'm not — I'm just a hireling 

With my weary rounds to trudge. 
It's all right with me — but, brother — 

Better go and see the Judge. 

How's that, madam? Ain't it awful? 

You just drove your car down-town. 
Then dropped in to buy a bonnet 

And a simple little gown? 
In the store just twenty minutes? 

Ain't time awful in its flight? 
See the Judge to-morrow morning; 

Nice young fellow — he's all right. 

89 



SAID THE TRAFFIC COP, SMILINGLY 

Oh, your watch stopped? Ain't that madd'ning ? 

Mine stopped, too, the other day, 
Nearly made me late to roll call ; 

Guess I'll give the thing away. 
Tell the Judge just how it happened ; 

Judge is nice — he'll understand. 
Tell him you were three hours over — 

Blame it on the minute hand. 

Wife forgot to telephone you 

Where she'd parked the car? — well, say, 
Ain't that like forgetful women? 

Don't they do things just that way? 
Well, let's see, how can we fix it ? 

Say, I'll tell you what to do — 
See the Judge to-morrow morning; 

He won't do a thing to you. 



9Q 



THE LITTLE THING CALLED "GOOD 
MORNING" 

It lives in a cheer-niche somewhere in The Soul, 
Just give it a start, then away it will roll, 
And all it will take is a smile for its toll — 

The little thing called "Good Morning!" 
There's something about it of magical skill, 
It goes to the mine pit and up to the mill ; 
Gives dimples to Mary and chuckles to Bill — 

The little thing called "Good Morning!" 

Of course there are places, I'm sorry to say. 
Where that merry minstrel has never held sway; 
The whistle just blows, then they start on the day 

And nobody says : "Good Morning !" 
Like slaves in the galleys they take up the grind, 
Pass elbow to elbow as though they were blind ; 
Leave love in the lockers and call life unkind — • 

Where nobody says: "Good Morning!" 

or 



THE LITTLE THING CALLED '"''gOOD MORNING'' 



But oh, there are places I joy to go in ! 

Where little "Good Morning!'* arrives with a 

grin 
And makes all the toilers of workaday kin — 

The shop where they say : "Good Morning !" 
Fve known it to win the most arrogant boss. 
Bring joy to a job long condemned as a cross; 
Oil all the machinery, make profit of loss — 

That little soul-song: "Good Morning!" 



92 



THE KITCHEN PUMP 

'Course city fellers gits to have a lot o' things 

to eat, 
Like lickrish drops an' sody pops an' mutton 

chops fer meat. 
But I've got somethin' here at home — out where 

th' country is — 
That beats their 'ristocratic stuff an' ornamental 

fizz. 
It's water — just pure water — but it's mighty 

plain to see 
There ain't no better pardners than th' kitchen 

pump an' me. 
We love each other dearer than a lot of kinfolks 

do, 
Which you can't grasp or understand — our pump 

ain't kin to you! 

93 



THE KITCHEN PUMP 

It stands 'long side th' kitchen where th' shadows 

loll around 
To keep th' old pump company an' cool th' 

fevered ground. 
An' when I've been a-playin' hard an' want to stop 

an* rest, 
Then's when I love th' water from th' kitchen 

pump th' best. 
It seems to feel in duty bound, when I'm all tired 

an' hot. 
To reach clear to th' bottom fer th' coolest drink 

it's got. 
An' that's what I call pardnership — th' old pump 

seems to grin 
Each time I empty out th' cup an' fill it up ag'in. 

An' lots o' times when we're alone — if no one's 

here that day — 
Th* kitchen pump an' me has games we both two 

like to play. 
We *tend th' pump's a fountain where they's sody 

water at. 
With mead an' sassfarilla an' a lot of things like 

that 

94 



THE KITCHEN PUMP 

Then I make 'maginations like I'm rich as rich 

can be 
An' order drinks till I can't hold no more inside 

of me. 
'Course I can make the old pump give just what 

I want it to, 
But 1 say: ''Gimme shoc'late!" — just like city 

tellers do! 



95 



A MIGRANT MELODY 

There came from an alley and into the street 
The haunting" refrain of a melody sweet; 

A whistling street-urchin had carried it down 

From his gallery throne to a turbulent town. 
The song had a thrill in its every note ; 
It sweetened the lips and it gladdened the throat ; 

It danced on its way from the happy boy's 
heart 

To Sicily Joe of the strawberry-cart. 
Joe gathered it up with a welcoming zeal 
And shared it with Tim at the taxicab's wheel ; 

Tim carried it on till he came to a stop, 

Then whistled the tune for a boulevard cop. 
The boulevard cop found the turnkey alone 
And sang him the melody over the phone ; 

The turnkey, good fellow, in whose heart 
yet dwells 

God's pity, soon sent it down into the cells. 

96 



A MIGRANT MELODY 

The prisoners took cheer in the melody sweet 
And out through the bars it went back to the 
street ; 
The boy who had first sent the song on its 

way 
Said : "Funny, that's twice I have heard that 
to-day I" 
And so, while the song again played on his lips, 
He met some seafaring men bound for their 
ships; 
He gave it to them, and they carried it on — > 
Well, nobody knows just how far it has 
gone! 
Which all goes to prove that when God would 

spread joy, 
He finds He can always depend on a boy! 



97 



THE GLORIOUS FIRST 

I HEARD a new voice in the street to-day, 
One I never had heard before; 

It came to me, shrill as a piper's note, 
Then died in the traffic's roar. 

'Twas the voice of a boy — a voice new-bom 
To the rush and din of the world ; 

He was taking his place, with shrinking heart. 
Where the banner of Gain's unfurled. 

He snugged up close to the alley wall. 

As a child to its mother clings; 
He made me think of a bird gone forth 

On the first free test of its wings. 

I saw him enter the crowded street, 

Then halt — and I know that I smiled 

As he opened his mouth and out of it came 
A cry, terrorizingly wild. 

98 



THE GLORIOUS FIRST 

It Startled him more than any who heard, 

I paused to encourage the tot. 
"That's right — go to it, old boy!" I said. 

"Give them all of the yell youVe got !" 

His boy face gladdened as pennies I held 
Were garnered with uttermost glee. 

He shouted again — and again! — and again! 
He had sold his first paper, you see. 

And oh, what a moment that is to a boy ! 

It ends all his fears and regrets ; 
Though ten million papers were sold — in his heart 

That first one he never forgets! 



99 



SECOND-HAND HOSSES 

You merchants with your motors. 
Your swell, upholstered toters 

Of human bein's lookin' for a thrill ; 
Don't laugh at us, you fellers, 
You second-hand car sellers — 

Old Traders' Alley's doin' business still. 
While you're bewailin' losses 
We're still a-swappin' bosses — 

Yes, call 'em second-handed if you will. 

Our nags don't never tarnish, 

Fall down an' scratch their varnish — . 

They may fall down, but they git up ag'inL 
We don't stand 'round an' twaddle 
Of wheel-base, tires or model — 

Th' way you fellers thrill 'em is a sin. 
We just look at their molars, 
See if they're easy strollers — 

If they can walk — then may th' best man win ! 

lOO 



SECOND-HAND HOSSES 

Bill says: *'How much you gimme?'* 

I say, "Now don't you trim me!'* 
We laugh an' swap an' swear each other's stung. 

Th' nag may be a blower, 

A kicker or a thrower, 
Have half of one per cent, of one good lung. 

Still, class can't be demanded 

Of bosses second-handed — 
A ringer ain't a ringer till it's rung! 

A little oats or clover 

May make a boss all over — 
No motor-car gits fat on gasoline. 

It's then you make your killin', 

Swap off your Patch or Dillon — 
Th' guys all wonder where you got th' queen. 

Git two good bosses for her. 

An' then — Oh, holy horror! 
For boot you git a second-hand machine! 



lOI 



THE OLD MAN'S CHRISTMAS SHOP 

Yes, I hear you, Miss Jolly-go-romp, 

Calling to me to come : 
"Look at the wonderful Jack-in-box 

And oh, what a dandy drum! 
See all the beautiful Chinese dolls. 

And yonder's a dancing bear! 
There's nothing like it in all the world; 

There couldn't be — anywhere !" 

Your eyes are bright, Miss Jolly-go-romp ; 

It's thrilling, I can't deny, 
But you should have seen the Christmas shop 

I knew in the days gone by. 
'Twas not so large. Miss Jolly-go-romp, 

As the toyshops are to-day, 
But oh, it was more mys-ter-i-ous. 

The colors were far more gay! 

102 



THE OLD MAN S CHRISTMAS SHOP 

And the Toyship Man, Miss Jolly-go-romp, 

What a quizzical way he had; 
He knew all the children for miles around, 

Could tell all the good from bad. 
But what was the queerest of all to me 

Was how he could tell, some way. 
The things you wanted old Santa to bring 

To your house Christmas Day. 

Let's you and I, Miss Jolly-go-romp, 

Play I am the Toyshop Man, 
While you — well, you're Miss Jolly-go-romp 

With many a secret plan. 
And the secrets — oh, they mustn't get out!— 

They're sacred as troth could be, 
But, being the Toyshop Man, of course. 

You whis-s-s-per them all to me! 



103 



HYMN-SINGIN' JIM 

Co'sE Ah ain' des ezzackly whut yo'd call de 

shoutin* kin' 
Dat gits so dog-gone 'ligious Ah completely lose 

ma min'. 
Huh-iih! Not me I But, folks, Ah know ma 

soul ain' gwine to be 
In whut de high-tone' preachahs call de clutch ob 

jeopahdy. 
Ah's got ma own 'uligion an' it's full ob lub fo' 

Him 
Dat gibs dis worl' sech 'vangelists as ole Hymn- 

slngin' Jim. 

No, Jim ain' ole in age — ^he's young! — but it do 

seem to me 
De songs he sings hab trabeled down from all 

eternity. 

104 



HYMN-SINGIN' JIM 



He des strums up dat ole guitah an', Sunday 

aftahnoon, 
Gits out dah on de ole back poxh an' ripples up 

a tune. 
It ain' no giddy ragtime stuff — dey's no sech 

thing in Jim — 
But dah, in tones as sof as prayer, he croons a 

gospel hymn. 

Fus' come ole "Rock ob Ages" an' Ah see de 

stohm waves toss 
Dat po' white angel clingin' to de ransom ob de 

Cross. 
Oh, Ah listen, listen, listen, wif ma haid bowed 

lak to pray. 
Till ma crowdin' woes an' worries gits afraid an' 

goes away. 
Den Ah ketch mase'f a-smilin' when ole Jim strak 

up de song : 
"If Yo's Gwine to Glory, Brothahs, Come an' 

Take Ma Soul Along."' 



105 



HYMN-SINGIN' JIM 

Den de good ole "J^sus Lovah" comes a-waftin' 

sof an' low 
Till Ah *magine Gabr'ers trumpet gittin* ready 

fo' to blow. 
Let it blow — Ah's ready, brothahs ! — but de trufe 

Ah doan' deny — 
Dey's got to be good music if dey keep me glad 

on High. 
Dey*s got to be some singin' by de angel 

seraphim 
If dey crowd me full o' *ligion same as ole Hymn- 

singin' Jim. 



io6 



WHEN TH' FIREMENS COME 

Ain''t nobody ever wuz 

Gits me mad as firemens does; 

When your house is burnin' they 

Act Hke it's a holiday, 

But when some one else's burns, 

'Fore a person hardly turns 

The alarm in — why, they're there 

Squirtin' worter everywhere! 

I know what I'm talkin' 'bout — 
They once put my own house out! 
Say, them firemens, seemed to me, 
Played a game of cards to see 
If they'd come or if they'd not — 
When they did 'twuz in a trot! 
Still, my neighbors — every one — 
Said they made a purty run. 
107 



WHEN TH' FIREMENS COME 

What got me th^ worst wuz when 
One went up th' ladder, then 
Turned around an' said he s'pose 
He would have to have some hose. 
Never seemed to care a dern 
If th' dog-gone house did bum, 
Still, he got some hose, I guess — 
Loss wuz small, I must confess. 

On th' other hand I've been 
Where a fire alarm wuz in 
An' I wondered, as it were, 
If 'twould be spectaculer. 
Then they got there — seemed to me- 
'Fore a cat could climb a tree. 
Makes a difference, I've no doubt, 
Just whose house they're puttin' out 



io8 



PUPS AND A BOY 

Some folks likes to go an' see 
Circus shows — but as fer me 
Git some pups, then find a boy 
An' I'll git my share of joy! 

Pups theirselves, when they're alone,- 
Makes a circus all their own; 
Then just add a boy — an' gee! 
They're a whole menagerie I 

Boy he'll kind o' make p'tend 
He's their only livin' friend; 
Then, first thing you know, he'll ist 
Give their tails a little twist. 

Holler! Gosh, but they'll git sore, 
Then come back to git some more. 
I've seen pups put up a bluff 
Like they'd never had enough. 
109 



PUPS AND A BOY 

Boy he'll chase 'em all about 
Till their tongues is hangin' out ; 
Ketch 'em where their necks is slack, 
Then — kerflop ! — they're on their back ! 

Oh, they'll snarl an' fume an' fuss 
Till you'd swear you heard 'em cuss; 
Then they'll sneak away an' quit 
Like they'd got th' worst of it. 

Boy, all tired, thinks he has won. 
But them pups ain't never done; 
They just wait to ketch his grin. 
Then hop up an' start ag'in! 



no 



THE GIGGLEBUG 

When Patricia giggles! Goodness, what a mess 
She can make of discontent and unhappiness! 
Once we see her baby grin broaden to a smile, 
Then we know the Gigglebug's coming after 
while. 

There's no calculating when Gigglebug will 

come — 
He may lurk behind a crook in her little thumb. 
But we fancy his abode is the looking-glass 
Where he lingers every day hoping she will pass. 

All at once the mirror glows with a baby face, 
One she, somehow, can't recall seeing 'round the 

place. 
So she ponders anxiously on the face unknown, 
Till at last it stands revealed as her very own! 

Ill 



THE GIGGLEBUG 

Then the giggles start to come! Gone is every 

frown 
As she perches on a chair, playing circus clown. 
Then the little minx pretends she's a one-eyed elf 
Hiding in the looking-glass winking at herself! 

Next she twists her baby face into funny forms, 
Till the giggles fairly grow into giggle-storms. 
There's no pausing after that — everything she 

sees 
Tickles her until she falls, giggling, to her knees. 

Now she rolls upon the floor, kicking heels in air, 

Laughing at the funny things 'round her every- 
where. 

There's a black spot on her nose — funny as can 
be!— 

There's a funny bird outside in a funny tree I 

Oh, you funny Gigglebug! What a joy you are, 
Lurking even in the depths of the cookie jar! 
Yet, we say, most comical of all the things you do, 
Is, when Patricia giggles — we get the giggles too I 



112 



THE MOODS OF WINTER 

Of all the seasons, Winter seems to me 
More temperamental than the other three. 
Fve seen him strike the old a chilling blow, 
Then turn and paint a heart-alluring glow- 
On maiden faces — make them seem to be 
The happy heralds of his artistry. 

But Winter's mood is never half as sweet 
As when he brings Boy- Worship to his feet. 
Ah, then it is he lets the grumblers groan, 
The churls lament, the cynics chill and moan. 
Old Winter laughs and from the sky o'erhead 
Brings down white pathways for a waiting sled. 

113 



THE MOODS OF WINTER 

I've witnessed Winter spread his snowy sheet 
Alike in country lane and city street ; 
I've heard him roar his far-resounding call 
To Youth to come and glory in it all. 
Glad Youth ! What joy indeed it is to be 
Play-comrade to a comrade such as he! 

Sometimes, in fancy, I hear Winter say 

A smiling boy is more than double pay 

For all the adult wailings he must bear 

When pleas for snow rule Boyhood's nightly 

prayer. 
So, Winter, laugh and from the sky overhead 
Bring down white pathways for a waiting sled. 



114 



DOCTOR GRIN 

Dah he is! Ole Doctoh Grin, 
Dosin' me wif smiles ag'in! 
Blamedest thing yo' evah see, 
Way dat young'un doses me. 

Seem lak he lays traps to ketch 
Me a-feelin' lak a wretch, 
Den — black magic! — dah he is, 
Showin' me dem teeth o' his! 

Ah doan' min', yo' imdahstan'. 
Alius feelin* good an' gran*, 
Still, same time, dey's days dat come 
WHien yo' joys in feelin' glum. 

Yes suh, days of languid mood 
When yo' craves des solitude; 
Days yo' wants to hab de blues 
Till yo's glum clean to yo' shoes. 

115 



DOCTOR GRIN 

But, it happens evah time, 
When Ah's lollin' in de grime, 
'Long comes Doctoh Grin — an' law 
Yo' mus' laugh er bus' yo' jaw! 

No, it ain' what ole Doc say 
Drives de pollywogs away, 
It's de — dah he is ag'in! 
Gimme room — Ah's got t' grinl 



ii6 



THE PASSING OF THE COMIC 

Times keep changing, changing, changing as the 
years go rolHng by, 

Some one's always disarranging things we 
cherished — you and I. 

There's the valentine, for instance — yes, the 
comic ones of old — 

In the shops they'll smile and tell you : "Com- 
ics aren't being sold!" 

Yes, they're banished from the counter of the 
little corner store 

Since they don't have old-maid teachers at the 
schoolhouse any more. 

You remember, Vay back yonder, in our days of 

Youth and Song, 
How we waited for Saint Valentine to help us 

right a wrong. 
117 



THE PASSING OF THE COMIC 

Teachers then were old and crusty, tired of hfe 

and all its joy; 
Two events alone gave pleasure — pay-day and 

an erring boy ! 
Valentines? Of course they got them! Love 

now settles every score, 
Since they don't have old-maid teachers at the 

schoolhouse any more. 

You remember, I remember, how the teacher 

looked at us; 
How each thought he heard her saying: 

''There's the guilty little cuss!" 
And you knew, down deep within you, that you 

really, truly were 
The one who sent the valentine marked "Teacher 

Dear" to her. 
Pal, to-day you'd send the sender sprawling 

through the open door. 
Since they don't have old-maid teachers at the 

schoolhouse any more. 



ii8 



THE PASSING OF THE COMIC 

Yes, the market's closed to comics — dainty ones 

are all you'll get — 
It's a sweet distinction, Buddy, to be called the 

teacher's pet. 
Love abides where once was hatred, smiles long 

since have banished tears. 
Proving well my declaration that we live in 

changing years. 
Valentines to-day are bonbons — *roses — violets, 

galore — 
Since they don't have old-maid teachers at the 

schoolhouse any more. 



119 



BLUE SMOKE 

When I am all town-tired and weary. 

All tired hearing people complain, 
All tired of the rush and the hurry 

That goes with the battle for gain; 
When I need scenes quiet and restful. 

And Autumn has come with its chill, 
I pack myself up for consignment 

To Blue Smoke, down under the hill. 

Blue Smoke, let me say, is a cabin 

Where humble folk happily dwell; 
They haven't great harvests to gather, 

They haven't great harvests to sell. 
And yet they are blessed with God's plenty — 

Enough! — and a fullness of love 
That seems to burst forth when the chimney 

Sends blue smoke parading above! 

120 



BLUE SMOKE 

I joy just to sit on the hillside 

And banish all city-born woe, 
As smoke clouds go swirling and curling 

From that little cabin below. 
I picture a great backlog burning, 

I fancy the sparks, in their joy. 
Are dancing a jig that is whistled 

Or sung by some glad girl and boy. 

So, when Fm all town-tired and weary, 

All tired hearing people complain; 
All tired of the rush and the hurry 

That goes with the battle for gain; 
When I need scenes quiet and restful, 

And Autumn has come with its chill, 
I pack myself up for consignment 

To Blue Smoke, down under the hill ! 



T2r 



AT MONTICELLO DAM 

I'm not th' kind of feller that persistently pursues 
His friends an* neighbors with a flood of creeds 

an' cults an' views. 
My scheme of livin's broad enough to let us all 

git in 
With talk about th' things we've done an' places 

we have been. 
Of course my range of travel ain't as fur as old 

Siam 
But, say — I have been fishin' up at Monticello 

dam! 

It's on th' good old Tippecanoe an' let me here 

declare 
Earth boasts no stream ner ocean any sweeter 

anywhere. 

I2« 



AT MONTICELLO DAM 

Seems like it just comes laughin' down from up 

'bove Winamac, 
Then hits old Monticello dam, jumps up an' 

bounces back. 
Next thing you know it's rompin* 'round th' edge 

er oozin' through 
Th' planks so's it can demonstrate its very love 

fer you. 

They's lots of folks, of course, with yachts an' 
mansions by the sea, 

But they don't know my river an' they've never 
fished with me. 

They've never had that feelin' of devotion fer a 
joy 

That kind o' merges manhood with th' day- 
dreams of a boy. 

It's here at Monticello dam I know th' pure 
delight 

Of bein' crazy-happy — but th' fish have got to 
bite. 



123 



THE PIPE OF PEACE 

They's times at comes to every kid when he ain*t 

crowned with joy; 
When he don't care if he's his Ma's or some one 

else's boy. 
He wouldn't mind if he was dead an' buried 'way 

down deep, 
Fer then his pain would all be g*one an' he could 

git some sleep. 

Still, there's one time when havin' pain don't 

seem so hard to bear; 
Like me, when I've got earache an' old Uncle Jim 

is there. 
Say, he beats all th' doctors you could mention, 

purty near, 
When he sits down with his old pipe an' blows 

smoke in my ear. 
124 



THE PIPE OF PEACE 

It's all SO mild an' soothin' that your ear will soon 

fergit 
Th' . sweet oil an' the cotton that your Mother 

stuffed in it. 
Th' smoke clouds kind o' linger with a breath so 

coolin' hot 
They seem to ooze right through your ear an' 

— well, just hit th' spot! 

A drowsy feelin' gits you as th' hurt all disap- 
pears, 

An' somethin' happy — not th' smoke — fills both 
your eyes with tears. 

Why, if the angels Up Above should git th' ear- 
ache, too, 

They ought to send fer Uncle Jim — that's what 
they ought to do! 



125 



WHAT THE TOYMAKER THINKS 

I WONDER just what the Toymaker thinks, 
As he sits by his fire and nods and bHnks 
At the close of day, when his toil is done 
And he dreams and rests till another sun. 

I wonder if he, as he sits and rocks, 
Gives ever a thought to Jack-in-the-box; 
To drums or horns, or the simplest toy 
That gave him a thrill when he was a boy. 

All day, in his shop, he has rushed about 
To get his orders from Santa Claus out. 
And how well he knew he must get them done 
Or there would be tears where there should be 
fun. 

126 



WHAT THE TOYMAKER THINKS 

So I always wonder just what he thinks 
As he sits by his fire and nods and bhnks. 
Does ever the wish find way to his heart 
That children would tire of his magic art? 

Just think what a gloomy old w^orld 'twould be 
If Santa's toymakers should ever agree 
To leave off their work and scurry away. 
Or go on a strike for an eight-hour day! 

It just couldn't happen ! It never has yet, 
So why need we worry and fear and fret? 
For centuries past each toymaker born 
Has had a glad part in some Christmas Morn. 

I've even been told they take a great pride 
In helping old Santa get ready to ride. 
And what I like best — they tell me they hear 
The children are all growing *'gooder" each year! 



127 



THE "MAKIN'S" 

There's lots o' sly nudgin' an' noddin' 

Broke loose in Our Town, let me say, 
Since Prohis have made a Sahara 

Of "Kelly's Place— Bar and Cafe." 
Th' Prohis stand 'round, kind o' grinnin', 

A-boastin' th' good they have done, 
But they don't know all that's a-happ'nin' — 

They're not havin' all o' th' fun ! 

You see — keep this dark — it's a secret — 

Most ev'ry good feller you meet 
Knows some one who knows of a feller 

Who has a good "makin's" receipt. 
For instance. Bun Grubbs told Bill Birdlow 

A drummer he'd met out in Nome 
Had sent him a formula — whisper! — 

For makin' it right in your home. 
128 



THE '"''maKInV^ 



Yes, sir, he told Bunny th' secret, 

An' Bunny told Bill, don't you see? 
An' Bill — not one bone in him's selfish — 

Snuck 'round here an' told it to me. 
There's somethin' you buy at th' drug store 

An' mix it all up in a jar, 
Then slip in some yeast an' — they tell me 

It's good as you'd buy at a bar. 

No, I ain't done none o' th' brewin'. 

There's nobody tried it as yet; 
We just have th' word that it's soothin' 

An' makes you forgive an' forget. 
An' then there's Red Coogan's concoction; 

Red says there's a feller he knows 
Puts raisins in somethin' an' — Red says — 

It tickles clear down to your toes. 

An' Snipe Turby knows of a method 
That's easy as watchin' it rain — 

A mixture of com an' sweet cider 

That looks like it might be champagne. 



129 



THE '^MAKIN's'^ 



It all sounds seductive — allurin' — 

But deep in my bosom there lurks 

Th' Shadow of Doubt — so I'm vvaitin' 
Till somebody proves that it works! 



130 



THE BELOVED FAT MAN 

That "Nobody loves a fat man" conveys quite 
a wrong impression ; 

There's one that I know whose jovial glow makes 
him a world possession. 

He's loved in Alaska, in France, Athabasca; in 
Panama, Cuba and Rome; 

He has friends in Dakota, New York, Min- 
nesota — and, oh, what a throng here 
at home! 

His lovable smile has warmed multiplied hearts 
in tropical habitations; 

He has tickled papooses in circus cabooses and 
off in remote reservations. 

He has gone over mountains, through deserts, by 
fountains and into the deepest dells; 

This most wonderful wizard has battled a bliz- 
zard to find where one baby dwells. 



THE BELOVED FAT MAN 

His musical name is as tunefully sweet as any- 
thing operatic; 

The chime of his bells in their rhythmical swells 
is truly a joy ecstatic. 

He goes singing his way from dark until day — 
perhaps that is why he is fat ! 

For a man with a song stays sturdy and strong — 
have you ever yet pondered that ? 

Old Santa Claus — bless his jovial heart — is 

flooded with world-devotion; 
He is loved in the hills and down by the mills 

and over the widespread ocean. 
But what mystifies me is the skill with which he 

goes down every chimney he knows ; 
Goes down with his pack and then scurries back 

without any soot on his nose! 



133 



THE INDISPENSABLE DOBBIN 

Laugh if you will, oh, Motor Clan, 

Then halt your laugh where it began ; 

Old Dobbin still has one smile left 

Of which he has not been bereft. 

One horse remains to mock your greed; 

The children's friend — the milkman's steed! 

You've motorized the fireman's job. 
You've gassed the cemetery's sob; 
You've spread salvation's call afar — 
They're preaching to us from a car! 
Still there's one job you can not get — 
The milkman's horse is with us yet ! 

^33 



THE INDISPENSABLB DOBBIJJ 

The milkman's horse goes on his way 
Unmindful of the motor's sway; 
What motor-car could ever tell 
Where all the milkman's patrons dwell? 
A car its steel-born soul would give 
To know where all the children live. 

What motor-car in all the land 

Gets sugar from a baby's hand? 

No purring engine ever stops 

For clover blooms or loUypops. 

So may we have, till Time shall end, 

The milkman's horse — the children's friend! 



134 



THE OLD YEAR 

The old year, swept by tides of all-regretful 

tears, 
Now bows its head to bear the somber Pall of 

Years ; 
Now bows its heart to do the penance of a slave,^ 
Hard bent upon his journey toward a Stygian 

grave. 
Yet, what are years but sun-kissed pebbles cast, 
With full care-freedom in that filmy sea, The 

Past? 
The Past? That is To-morrow taken from its 

play, 
Knd sent to find an unreturning Yesterday. 



135 



OLD MAN 

Old man he's th' queerest one 
Ever wuz since time begun; 
He ist knows more things 'at you 
Hardly can't beHeve they're true. 

Ist, fer instance, Old Man swears 
He has e't th' meat from bears 
He went out an' killed one day 
When he'd tired of other play. 

Old Man likes to brag about 
How he drove th' Injuns out — 
Him an' his big brother, who 
Killed 'cm ever' day er two! 

'Course I ist can't say 'at he 
Tells things what ain't so to me. 
Still it's funny how he knows 
All he does 'bout circus shows. 
136 



OLD MAN 

Old Man says when he wuz small 
Circus ain't no show at all 
'Less two hundred clowns er more 
Met you at th' circus door. 

Old Man says he can't be wrong — 
He's seen show trains ten miles long. 
Yes, an' camels so immense 
Their big humps held up th' tents. 

Maybe it's all true — an' yet 
They's one thing ain't so I bet — • 
'At's th' one he tells how he 
Ever' time would git in free I 



nt 



A ROOF-TOP REVERIE 

Away up here on the roof-top 

Where the cooHng breezes blow, 
I joy in my noon hour's leisure 

To muse of the crowds below. 
Though humble my own vocation, 

I look to the streets to see 
If one of those pilgrims legion 

Leaves envy of soul in me. 

I gaze far out to the country. 

Then fancy I see a frown 
That tells of a farm boy's longing 

For life in the crowded town. 
And down in the streets below me 

Are folk I know would be glad 
Had they the sweet range of vision 

That comes to a farmer lad, 
138 



A ROOF-TOP REVERIE 

He pines for the thrills and frenzies 

Found only where throngs abide; 
They long for the restful quiet 

The woods and the streams provide. 
The boy craves music and laughter, 

A place in the gay parade; 
But, oh, how the throng would cherish 

Just one glad hour in the shade! 

It must be Life's plan of balance; 

It never would do, I guess, — 
If all took the self-same pathway 

We'd know only toil and stress. 
So, 'way up here on the roof-top, 

Where soul-cheering breezes blow, 
I'll joy in my noon hour's leisure 

And pity the crowds below. 



139 



WHEN MOTHER RUBS IT IN 

IVk never seen my Mother wearin' such a tickled 

look, 
She smiles just like th' angels in a fairy story 

book. 
She goes around a-singin', with her voice all 

keyed up high, 
Like some one seekin' vengeance fer a wrong of 

days gone by. 

I don't know what's th' matter, but she seems to 

like to hear 
Me come from school a-sneezin' an' a-coughin' in 

her ear. 
Then she rushes to th' kitchen, chucklin' sweetly 

to herself, 
An' down th' dog-gone goose grease comes from 

pff th' pantry shelf. 
140 



WHEN MOTHER RUBS IT IN 

"Come here!" says she, dramatic! "Come here, 

my suf frill' son; 
My mother did this same to me — an' she had lots 

o' fun!" 
Then she starts in a-rubbin' my neck, my back an' 

chest. 
An' 'fore she's through I'm needin' 'bout twenty 

nights of rest. 

She stands off lookin' at me — we're both clear 

out o' breath — 
Then shakes her head an' shudders, till I'm 'bout 

scared to death. 
She throws a shawl around her head, an' soon I 

hear her feet 
A-trippin' — oh, so gaily! — to th' drug store up 

th' street. 

I see her through th' window as she comes across 

th' yard ; 
Oh, I know what she's boughten — it's turkentine 

an' lard I 



141 



WHEN MOTHER RUBS IT IN ,. 

Th' kitchen stove starts boomin', th' lard melts 

in a pan, 
Then I hear Mother say in' : *'Come to Mother, 

little man!" 

Oh, gee ! Oh, gosh ! Oh, pshaw ! Oh, my ! That 

dog-gone turkentine 
She splashes all around my chest an' up an' down 

my spine. 
But she don't seem to think of me — she chuckles 

with delight, 
Then says : "When I was young my Ma did this 

way ever' night!" 

Next thing she's in th' bathroom, where medicine 

is at, 
A-talkin' to herself! Says she: "I'd better give 

him that !" 
An' then it happens! I can feel my soul begin 

to boil; 
She's gone an' got — she's got it! — she's got th' 

castor oil! 



142 



AIN'T BOYS FUNNY? 

Ain't boys funny? Ain't boys queer? 
They don't change much, year on year. 
Pals g-row up and then there comes 
In their wake new boyhood chums. 
Do and say things they enjoy 
Just as you did when a boy; 
Same old views of good and harm 
Since old Adam lost his farm. 

Ain't boys funny? Ain't boys queer? 
Now that Spring is almost here 
You can see them wand'ring far 
Out where creeks and rivers are. 
Just the minute Winter shows 
Signs of turning up its toes, 
Mister Boy and all his clan 
Form a creek-bound caravan. 
143 



AIN^T BOYS FUNNY? 

Ain't boys funny? Ain't boys queer? 
Once the ice floes disappear 
Each boy dares each pal of his 
Feel how cold the water is ! 
Each boy knows when that begins 
They'll go home wet to their skins. 
Qothes all muddy — soggy feet — 
Oh, but ain't foot-music sweet? 

Ain't boys funny? Ain't boys queer? 
Each boy knows the talk he 11 hear 
When his mother turns to see 
Her disheveled progeny. 
Yes, of course, he'd show his wrath 
If she made him take a bath 
In a tub of ice and sand — 
Mothers never understand! 



144 



A GARDEN PATRIOT 

The Sun, the Dew and a Snowball Bush 
Met back of our neighbor's door; 

Good friends they were who had often met 
In that same place before. 

The Sun and Dew were in boastful mood 
And talked of the silver sheen 

They cast each mom on the Snowball Bush 
And over the grasses green. 

At last the Sun and Dew, grown tired 

Of vain, self-meted praise, 
Made bold to ask the Snowball Bush 

What joy had crowned its days. 

With smiles the Bush impelled each bloom 

To Hft its snow-white head, 
Then, swayed by calm and friendly winds. 

The topmost blossom said: 

145 



A GARDEN PATRIOT 

"We are the garden's White Zouaves 
That march the paths of May 

To bivouac where the soldier sleeps 
On Decoration day. 

"Though buds of other hues may fail. 
Our humblest blossoms rise 

To vie with flags that wave above 
The grave wherein he lies. 

"And ah, 'tis good and fitting, too, 
That God has made us so, 

For those who bear our blossoms there. 
Like us — are crowned with snow!" 



146 



THE TREE DOCTOR 

I find but small excitement in this antiquated 

lore, 
The digging up of Babylon or finding Canaan's 

shore ; 
My heart yearns not for treasure nor collegiate 

degrees, 
But, lordy, how I'd glory to be Doctor of the 

Trees I 

I met one just this morning, as I idled up the 

street, 
A man whose sentiments of life make living 

doubly sweet. 
He said he had a gospel, which, embodied as a 

whole, 
Is: "God makes human every tree, ennobling it 

with soul." 



THE TREE DOCTOR 

He was then on mercy's errand to a locust, half- 
decayed, 

Its body almost lifeless and the limbs fast losing 
shade. 

It was good to see the Doctor as he diagnosed the 
case, 

His pity for the patient sadly pictured on his 
face. 

He pondered for a moment, then with earnest zeal 

began 
To be physician to a tree as others are to man. 
He sought each little ailment that infested it to 

see 
What antidotes might be applied, what forms of 

surgery. 

He found dire complications — there were leprosies 

of scale — 
Yet he possessed the remedies he knew would 

never fail. 



148 



THE TREE DOCTOR 

I liked his buoyant confidence when, from the 

parts decayed, 
He tore the bhght until, behold I — clean apertures 

were made I 

Then bringing all his skill to bear, the surgeon of 

the trees 
As deftly mixed a healing mass and filled the 

cavities ! 
"Now it will live," I heard him say, when he had 

found each ill, 
And I, impressed and confident, said: "Yes, I 

think it will." 

For who could have but honest faith in surgeons 
such as he? 

A man whose simple title is Physician to a Tree. 

And who will say trees have no souls ? — or cour- 
age to insist 

God does not bless the labor of this leaf-evange- 
list? 



THE ENU 



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